


Loss

by silentstephi



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 23:08:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1365130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentstephi/pseuds/silentstephi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a bit of a personal piece.  Dealing with multiple miscarriages, I wrote this into some of my stories, to help grieve.<br/>This drabble is from the perspective of Anders/Justice/Vengeance.  Just a dream... right?</p><p>This takes place in the same 'verse as These Ties That Bind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loss

Such a disconcerting feeling. The sliding of pieces unseen against organs that can’t feel. But feel it he did.  
He. Strange. He had been it. Now it was he. Before the merging, he had no problems keeping this distinction.  
But after a decade in a living man’s body, part of his waking and dreaming, his life, his joys, his sorrows, the spirit could not say it anymore. He was as much part of the man as the man was now a part of him.  
Back to his thoughts on the disconnected feelings. A thread under intense strain on the dream winds had snapped. He could no longer feel the connection, and it pained them.  
That thread had been their last chance. Now hope had gone. Even with all the lyrium on Thedas, they would live together, merged, and die together. Alone.  
He felt despair and for once could not muster the energy to scold the mage(himself?) for it.  
For he too despaired.  
What have they become?  
On the run, there was little justice they could enact. The mage did not eat unless the spirit forced him to. The mage had lost his will to live.  
But live on they did.  
They still had a job to do.  
The smell of blood, and a cooling sensation on the skin recaptured his attention. These were things the spirit could never get used to, but in the pursuit of justice, he sought it with conviction. Those first few times, the mage had been sickened when the spirit brought fingers to lips and had tasted the cooling coppery fluid.  
Now it was reflex. It soothed their nerves. But even the comfort of the slain Templar at their feet did not give them rest.  
They turned to the winds, turned to the south, and saw the gossamer string that lead from him. Twisted into the mage’s pattern, the oily sheen of darkspawn taint, it fluttered on Fade currents.  
He pushed, but pressure on his legs lead them outside of the city. The mage knew, though the spirit sat confused. They ran, to the woods where they heard a woman’s muffled cries. Those cries filled their head, their heart, and rocked to the soul.  
The mage’s pain renewed and blossomed in their chest. He wanted to go to her. The spirit held him back. She wasn’t alone. They would be discovered.  
There were others, caretakers. Her pain was a beacon in the Fade, her emotions wild, a lure to the hungry demons who fed on such intense energies. The broken thread fluttered and the spirit picked it up with wispy fingers. Wetness on their cheek, the mage chants one word over and over again. “No, no, no, no…”  
They mourn for their loss.


End file.
